


i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

by irishais



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: F/M, I just want them to be happy, Self-indulgent smut, lunyx, the one-off i've been trying to write for like four days now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishais/pseuds/irishais
Summary: In the days between alliance and betrayal, there is hope. Luna/Nyx, and the midnight hours. NSFW.





	i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

_i love, and i love, and i love you_

\--

Her skin gleams iridescent in the moonlight, unsullied against the rumpled mess that are his sheets; Nyx realizes he should probably shut the curtains, but it’s too late, and unless Lady Lunafreya _orders_ it, nothing is going to make him leave this bed. He bows his head instead, skimming lips along one bare shoulder, her jacket shed, her skirt forgiving as it whispers up her thigh beneath his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs, a smile tucked against her throat as he tugs at the sash around her waist. “I hate to say it, but I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to get this off you.”

“The belt? Or the dress?” There’s some breathless confusion in her voice, distracted from her task at hand. A task she’s _very_ good at, as far as Nyx is concerned, her fingers dancing up in deliberate paths across his ribs, his chest, pausing chastely right at the waist of his pants. He sucks in a breath as she undoes his belt by way of demonstration, pulls a button from its hole.

“The belt I can figure out...” Which he does, finding the clasps that hold it shut around her tiny waist, pulling them deftly apart with callused fingers. The whole strip of leather is slipped from beneath her, tossed aside onto the floor. Her hand slides farther down; he swears, and basks in the way she beams at his reaction. It’s a fight to get back to what he was saying; the words stumble out far less cleverly than Nyx intended, hands digging into the voluminous folds of her skirt. “It’s the rest of this-- there’s a lot of it, princess.”

A lot of fabric to gather up in his hands, to inch up and up her legs. She laughs at the expression on his face, a mockery of consternation.

“I could just...tear it off you.”

Her eyes go wide for a split second, mind racing a thousand miles ahead to the far end of the implications-- leaving his apartment in something entirely different, her fancy royal duds reduced to rags-- but then she realizes he might actually be _kidding_ , and laughs as she lifts her hips, guiding his hand to her spine.

“There’s a zipper back here,” she informs him. The way her voice pitches at the end as he lets his touch roam just an inch lower pleases him-- periodically, Nyx thinks that this isn’t the _best_ idea he’s ever had, because this is the future _Queen_ in his bed, but then she does something, or says something, or _smiles_ at him like that, and any distracting, negative thoughts are brushed away. He curves his palms around her backside, lifting her bodily off the bed as he pursues the path of the zipper, finding the tab, pulling it back down inch by inch.

He is about as graceful in tossing away the dress as he was of her belt, which is to say that it becomes a rumpled heap on the floor. She can be annoyed about it later, if she wants; for now, he follows one dress with two bits of underwear and a pair of stockings that slip from her thighs like butter. His pants pursue the rest of the clothes, his shorts gone in the next stumbling moment.

“ _Six_ ,” he says at the way she looks, blonde hair mussed, cheeks pink, a godsdamned angel in his bed. “You’re stunning.”

It is not a good enough adjective; he thinks he could go his entire life and never be able to come close to _describing_ her, how she looks, how she makes him _feel_ , his heart a powerful thing in his chest that skips like a lovestruck teenager’s whenever she speaks, looks at him, whenever he _thinks_ about her.

“You’re _incorrigible_ ,” she counters, and reaches for him. He lets himself be tugged back down into her arms, willing to obey any little instruction she’d like to give, especially the one that comes with a soft whisper, an encouraging word as he kisses down her throat, the way she shifts under him that can only mean one thing. Nyx lets his mouth track along her stomach, descending between her legs, a pleased chuckle escaping at the way she inhales and gasps his name.

A princess’s hands in his hair is _so_ much more satisfying than it has any right to be, especially with the way her nails dig and scratch along his scalp. She doesn’t mean it, can’t _help_ it-- he makes a noise of approval, hiking her legs up higher onto his shoulders.

There. Perfect.

“ _Much_ better.” A pronouncement against the inside of her thigh. She tugs his hair just a little to the left, and Nyx promptly forgoes any follow-up he might have had in favor of the taste, the feel, the way she moans and writhes against him.

 _Easy, princess_ , he murmurs, when she breaks with a cry that she tries to bury in a pillow, a sound he wants to capture and bottle in a flask forever.

Lunafreya grabs him practically by his _ears_ to haul him up, one long leg wrapping around his thigh, the taste of her still fresh on his lips as he kisses her again, again, again. Moonlight shines in her hair, against her cheek; he chases the gleam of it with rough-worn fingernails as her hips arch against his, a fairy tale as old as time, the hero, the princess, the world far, far away.

Let it stay there, the war a distant memory beyond these four walls-- the king, the invaders, they can have whatever they want, just let him keep this one thing.

(Please don’t let him be dreaming this, please, _please_.)

They sleep hours later, tangled up in each other, his head against her chest, her fingers drifting absently through his hair until he dozes off, and when he wakes, she’s still there, arms wrapped around him, daybreak a halo around her bowed head.

_i love you and i love you and i love you._

 


End file.
